


Most Favorable Outcome

by naughtical_nbd



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Flavour: Sex Favorable, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Birth Control, Canon Asexual Character, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, This Fic Goes Out To Anyone Who's Ever Used the NuvaRing, Tim Stoker Has ADHD, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Vaginal Fingering, author is ace & trans, jontim t4t all the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtical_nbd/pseuds/naughtical_nbd
Summary: He thinks they’re dating. He’s pretty sure. It’s been about a month now, and the amount of sex has been equally proportional to the time they’ve spent simply talking, eating takeout, or taking advantage of one of Tim’s streaming subscriptions on Jon’s more comfortable couch. That was the plan for tonight, anyway. And if they’re dating, Jon feels somewhat comfortable asking for this kind of favor.If they’re not, then, at the very least, this ought to clear things up.Jon asks Tim for a helping hand. Things escalate.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, very briefly mentioned past tim/sasha
Comments: 13
Kudos: 205





	Most Favorable Outcome

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is aaaaabsolutely the most indulgent thing I've ever written lol. But it was really fun, and it got me out of a writer's block funk! I dunno, I just love exploring the intimate intricacies of being trans and queer and neurodivergent and in love. Thanks to my delightful beta, PeriPeriwinkle, for going above and beyond to ensure I accurately represented the NHS, and to my partner for the inspiration. The timing on this is probably close enough to count as a present, so happy birthday babe, here's 4k of domestic smut. ;3 
> 
> Jon is pre/non-op in this fic, and Tim has had top surgery, although that doesn't come up. Body terminology used includes: breasts, chest, cunt, pussy, clit, vulva, entrance.

It seems like as good a night as any, so Jon asks him after dinner: “I was wondering if you could do me a bit of a favor.”

Tim looks up at him, curious, from where he’s rinsing one of their plates in the sink. “Sure, I guess? Depends on the favor.” He sets the plate down with a soft _clink_. 

“Nothing too complicated,” Jon assures him, unable to meet his eyes as he places a freshly cleaned glass in the dish rack, even though he’s not actually lying. “I could do it myself, it’s just, er, a bit more inconvenient.” 

He _thinks_ they’re dating. He’s pretty sure. It’s been about a month now, and the amount of sex has been equally proportional to the time they’ve spent simply talking, eating takeout, or taking advantage of one of Tim’s streaming subscriptions on Jon’s more comfortable couch. That was the plan for tonight, anyway. And _if_ they’re dating, Jon feels somewhat comfortable asking for this kind of favor. 

If they’re not, then, at the very least, this ought to clear things up.

Tim is looking at him expectantly, turned away from the sink now, one wet hand on his hip. Jon sighs. “It’s— It has to do with my birth control.” 

Tim raises an eyebrow, but to his credit all he says is, “Go on?” 

“Well, it’s not for— Obviously I don’t have to worry about that sort of thing with, with you, at least,” Jon explains haltingly. “Not! That I’ve been with anyone else, lately, I mean—”

“It’s okay if you want to, you know,” Tim says, although Jon can tell he’s being carefully neutral, using the low, even tone he always does when he thinks Jon’s getting nervous. Usually it _is_ calming, but now Jon only feels slightly patronized. He pushes past it. For whatever reason, Tim seems to think Jon is both funny _and_ attractive, and he doesn’t deserve to have his head bitten off over this. “No, I— That’s, thank you, I wouldn’t, er. If that ever comes up, we’ll discuss it first, of course.” 

“Of course,” Tim agrees, a bit more emphatic, and that’s comforting. Maybe they really are dating. Or maybe that’s just common decency; it’s not like anyone ever explained the playbook to Jon.

Either way, he heaves another sigh, dries his hands on the damp dish towel belatedly, just to have an excuse to look away from Tim and collect himself. “Anyway,” he says, “I use the ah, the ring. Have you heard of—?”

Tim nods, folding his arms and leaning against the counter. “Yeah, I used it for a couple of months, actually, before I got an IUD.”

Jon can feel himself practically droop in relief. “Right, so you know how it really— It _really_ gets lodged up there, and I don’t have a great angle on it myself, and I know it’s all a bit, er, procedural, but—”

“You want me to take it out for you?” When Jon nods, Tim looks as if he can’t help the small smile spreading across his face. “Honestly, Jon, I’ve gotten familiar enough with the area over the past few weeks—”

“Yes, well, all right,” Jon mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat up. “It’s not exactly very _erotic_ , is it, you groping around inside me for a bit of plastic.”

“Oh, don’t be so sure,” Tim says, and winks. “I think that all depends on technique.” He leans in for a kiss, and Jon meets him across the sink, somehow immensely grateful for far more than a simple favor.

That’s how Jon finds himself reclined on his double bed, pants and trousers discarded, his bare arse resting on the edge of the mattress, legs in the air. The exposure still feels slightly medical in some capacity, like he ought to have stirrups to rest his feet on, but that’s only until Tim moves between them, placing a warm hand on Jon’s thigh. His expression is warm, too, heated, and it occurs to Jon what he must look like, spread out and vulnerable like this. It makes him shiver, lightly.

Tim notices, a crease appearing on his brow. “All right? Too cold?”

“Maybe,” Jon admits, because it is a bit chilly in the bedroom when he’s half-undressed. 

Tim gives his thigh a pat. “I can fix that,” he says, and smiles, leaning down and nudging his way between Jon’s thighs. They kiss, and it’s a _good_ kiss, the kind that Jon can feel spreading warmth inside him. Not all kisses are like that, even when he wants them to be, but Tim knows how to start soft, breathe into it, coax Jon out of his head. This time it works. 

When he starts to trail gently down the column of Jon’s neck, warm hands creeping up under Jon’s _Star Trek_ t-shirt, it takes a second for Jon’s mind to catch up. “Where’re you going?”

“It’s easier to do this if you’re wet,” Tim says against his throat. He rucks Jon’s shirt up over his chest. “The wetter the better, really.” Jon can feel his smile as he moves lower, nuzzling against the dusting of dark hair on Jon’s chest. “ _Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter,”_ he sings, mostly on key. “That oughta be my motto, or something.”

Jon wrinkles his nose in exasperated amusement. “Get it on a sticker,” he suggests, then bites his lip as Tim’s mouth finds one of his nipples, tongue flicking across the soft bud of it until it hardens. Jon’s chest is small enough that his other breast fits neatly in Tim’s hand, his thumb circling the small brown peak. Jon lets out a slow breath, letting go of Tim’s forearms to push up on his elbows, into the touch. Being caressed like this always makes him feel strangely fuzzy, his mind blurring at the edges of its focus. It’s good, in a distant way. He doesn’t want to think too hard.

Tim pulls back from his left side to move over to his right, a tiny strand of saliva trailing away from Jon’s chest to his mouth. A split second and it breaks, but Jon is fascinated by it, and brushes his own fingers across his areola to feel the slick, heady glide. Tim never makes a mess of him unless Jon has asked him to, but there are still wet marks left behind from his kisses, which flare with sensation when his breath ghosts across them. 

Tim is moving lower now, kissing tenderly down Jon’s soft belly, his hands a solid pressure around Jon’s waist. Somewhere along the way he gets into a kneeling position, hitching Jon’s legs over his shoulders, nuzzling affectionately at the joint of Jon’s hip. An aborted noise forces its way out of Jon’s throat, and Tim looks up, positively grinning now. “Ready?”

“Ah— You tell me,” Jon says, feeling lightheaded.

Tim appraises his cunt thoughtfully, even going so far as to rub his chin. “Hmm.” It’s ridiculous, and Jon wants to laugh, but it comes out more a whiny sort of giggle, especially when Tim strokes the length of his slit with two fingers, experimental. “You could be wetter,” Tim concludes with a decisive nod, and leans forward, licking into him.

Jon clutches two handfuls of his duvet, head snapping back as if of its own accord. He stares up at the popcorn ceiling as Tim flattens his tongue against his clit, then shuts his eyes with a groan. His whole body feels lit up like a circuit grid, which is good; he just needs to be careful not to let it overwhelm him. Tim hugs him close, arms around his thighs, both a constant grounding pressure and a reminder not to try and fuck his face. He sucks at Jon’s clit, a hum in the back of his throat that sounds downright appreciative, and Jon clenches around nothing, gasping and arching his back. 

Petting over his stomach in a soothing gesture, Tim spreads Jon’s thighs slightly wider, giving himself room to lap at him, messy and indulgent. Jon tries to sit up and watch, but all he can see is Tim’s face half-obscured by his coarse, well-trimmed black curls. His breath hitches. “Ah— Christ—”

Frustratingly, Tim chooses that moment to pull away and sit back on his heels. “How’s that?” He asks, licking his lips, the picture of smugness.

“It’s _good,_ ” Jon groans, pushing his hair out of his face. “Did you just need confirmation, or—?” 

“Well, should I do it now?”

“Do _what_?” Jon snaps, then nearly curls in on himself in embarrassment. “Right. Right. Yes. The— yes, go on then.” He flaps a hand at Tim irritably, who is laughing, his head laid fondly against Jon’s thigh.

“That good, eh?” he prods, teasing.

“Yes, Tim, you are great at sex. You get all the medals,” Jon mutters, dragging a hand down his face. 

Tim simply presses a kiss to his vulva, which makes him twitch. “Ah, f—!” 

“All right, all right, sorry,” Tim says, rubbing his hip sympathetically, though he’s still smiling. “Here, I’ll get on with it.” He swipes the sleeve of his pullover across his mouth.

Jon makes a face at him. “Gross.”

He snorts. “Calm down, I’m gonna wash it anyway.” Moving to stand, Tim hitches one of Jon’s legs around his waist and reaches down, pressing two fingers lightly against his slick entrance. “Seriously,” he says, “Try to relax?”

“When am I not relaxed?” Jon asks drily. Tim rolls his eyes and pushes inside, gradual and cautious, although there is no resistance. Jon is worked up enough that the breach feels hot and welcome, forcing a breath out of him. His insides feel strangely molten with arousal, in fact, and he watches Tim’s face go briefly slack as he slides his fingers in. “Jesus,” he mutters, “Oh, you’re really… Wow.”

“Yeah,” says Jon, although he’s not sure what he’s affirming, exactly. It just feels _good,_ and when Tim pushes in further it sets off sparks in his vision, the smooth pads of his fingers gliding against a spot that makes Jon cry out. “ _Oh!_ God, do that again— Do it harder.”

Tim does, conspicuously without comment, his grip tightening on Jon’s waist. “Wow,” he repeats softly, and then, sounding somewhat distracted, “Where is— You wanted me to take your ring out, right—?”

“I— I told you, it’s in deep.” Jon blinks, trying to clear his head. “You might have to reach— _Aahhhokay!_ Right. Yes!”

“Oh! There it is,” Tim says, chipper with the tiniest note of strain. “Jesus, hah, I didn’t think I’d need to like, _fist_ you to get it out.”

Jon can feel him prodding around, trying to snag the thing; he grimaces. Aroused as he is, the sensation isn’t actually unpleasant, and occasionally it’s even electric, but still unusual. “Nn— I did warn you.”

Pausing, Tim looks up at him flatly. “Are you really gonna give me an _I told you so?_ Right now? While I’m spelunking in your pussy?”

“Fuck _off,_ ” Jon exclaims, too loudly, in part to cover up the fact that he’s laughing. “You’re horrible _,_ I swear—”

“Hey! I’m doing you a favor,” Tim reminds him, sniggering. “Ah, bollocks, this thing is fiddly— There. There, I’ve hooked it.”

“Oh, brilliant, you’ve _hooked_ it,” Jon wheezes. “What are you doing now, fishing?”

“You know, maybe you should focus on keeping things loose,” Tim suggests, still drawing his hand out slowly. “Hold still, I’m trying not to scratch you— Fucking hell, good thing I clipped my nails this week!”

“Good thing,” Jon echoes weakly, forcing himself to relax instead of clamping around Tim’s fingers. A moment later and the ring slides out; Tim holds it up, sticky and glistening. “There we go. Sorted.”

Jon stares for a second, then reminds himself to nod mechanically. “Y-yes. Sorted. Thanks.”

Tim chuckles as he moves over to toss it into the bin near the nightstand. “You’re welcome. I know I was being a bit dramatic back there, but— Anytime, really.” He flashes Jon a lopsided smile, then plucks a tissue from the bedside table to clean his fingers.

“Mmm.” Jon tips his head back onto the mattress, sighing. “That’s, er, that’s sweet. It’s really not that much of a fuss to do it myself, but somehow I thought it might be easier—”

“More enjoyable,” Tim interjects, pinching his arse lightly and making him yelp. 

“That’s what I _theorized,_ ” he huffs.

“Ooh, big words.” Tim sits down beside him on the edge of the bed and drops a kiss on his knee.

Jon squeezes his thighs together, breathing through his nose. Warmth is still coursing through him. “Tim—”

“Shh, all right, I’ll give it a rest.” Laying back on the bed beside Jon, Tim turns to face him. Jon turns towards him as well, and then back up to the ceiling almost immediately. He doesn’t see Tim frown, but he can hear it in his voice when he asks, “Everything okay?”

Jon closes his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, and asks, “We’re dating, right?”

Tim’s response betrays clear surprise. “Er. Yeah? Yeah, I— Did you think we weren’t?”

“No,” Jon says, then pauses, chewing his lip. “I just, wanted to make sure, that’s all.” 

Logically, that seems like it should be the end of the conversation, but Tim is staring at him quizzically, lips pursed, as if he has _several_ more questions and can’t quite decide which to start with. Jon props himself up on one elbow, pulling his legs up on the bed. “...You seem confused,” he observes.

“You could say that,” Tim agrees with a slow nod. “Er. So you thought— Okay. You thought we were… What, just really, _really_ good friends?”

“Not necessarily, but I don’t— I don't quite know the protocol,” Jon admits. “Or— That sounds ridiculous, I mean to say everyone defines relationships differently, and I didn’t want to make assumptions—”

“Right, but you could have just asked.”

“I did.”

“I mean you could have asked, like, the _first_ time I kissed you, maybe,” Tim clarifies, very deliberate.

Jon examines his nails, and then starts chewing one. “Seemed a bit silly at the time.”

Tim presses one of his knuckles to his mouth briefly, eyes shut. “I— Sorry, I’m not following.”

“Well, you don’t just ask someone if it means you’re dating after _one kiss,_ ” Jon explains patiently. “It’s embarrassing, and I _know_ that’s not how relationships work. But I assumed there would be a point at which it would become obvious, somehow—” 

“How did it work with your last partner?” Tim asks, interrupting. 

Jon frowns, thoughtful. “Hm. Well, she quite explicitly asked me out on a date— A contextually romantic date, with, you know, candlelight and soft music. And you, er, did not do that.” 

Tim holds up a hand. “Wait a second, I did _so_ ask you out,” he argues. “I asked if you wanted to go for drinks, that’s—”

“You ask Sasha to go for drinks all the time,” Jon counters. “Do you go home together afterwards?” 

“Er— Been there, done that, not compatible, long story short,” Tim says quickly, and then at Jon’s apparent expression of surprise, “It was like, a _year_ ago, and we both agreed it wasn’t—”

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” says Jon, and he doesn’t; that’s not even the part of the conversation he’s thrown by. “Just, hang on, you’re telling me drinks is your, your code word for—”

“No, it’s not _code,_ ” Tim groans, slumping back onto the bed. “It’s, you know, there’s drinks, and then there’s _drinks,_ yeah?”

Jon stares at him. “Tim, how in the _hell_ am I supposed to know the difference?”

Tim sighs. “Fine, fine, all right, I don’t know, but— Were you really confused this _entire_ time?” He looks stricken. “I thought— I thought we were doing really good, at, you know, talking about stuff.”

Jon feels an uncomfortable pang in his chest, and reaches out for him, covering Tim’s hand with his own. “No, I— I think we _are_ doing, ah, doing well. I feel— It’s, it’s easy to be around you, it’s relaxing.” He sighs. “I only wanted to make sure I wasn’t reading things wrong, and you— Honestly you’re very distracted sometimes.” 

“Oh.” Tim squeezes the hand under Jon’s into a fist. “That— I’m actually, I’ve been off my, er— Had some trouble with my Adderall prescription.”

“Oh.” Jon considers this, like a massive weight suddenly floating off his shoulders. “Oh, well— That’s all right, then. That’s fine. Is there anything I can do—?” 

Tim shrugs, relaxing his shoulders somewhat. “Nah, not really. I was supposed to change to a different dose, but when I went to the chemist’s they said they had to order in for a new prescription, and to fuck off and come back later. Which, I sort of forgot to do? I don’t really need it to function, it’s just, you know.”

“Harder,” Jon supplies, nodding. “How long was it supposed to take to arrive?”

“Urgh.” Tim drags a hand over his face. “I don’t know, I think I wrote it down? It might be in my phone, I guess we could check.” 

“Maybe, er.” Jon glances down at his lower half, which remains naked as ever. “Maybe later.”

Tim follows his gaze, then sits up, bewildered. “Oh, my god. I _completely_ forgot we were in the middle of sex.”

“Technically, you could call it a medical procedure,” Jon suggests, although he’s definitely taking liberties with that statement. There is still a dull, warm ache between his legs, though he’s been choosing to ignore it.

“No, god, I’m sorry.” Tim reaches for him, pulling him closer. “This is probably exactly what you meant. Jesus.”

“Perhaps,” Jon admits, scooting towards him across the covers. “It’s all right, though, I can— I can try to remind you.”

“About sex?” Tim flashes him a cheeky grin, although it looks more sheepish than usual. “I dunno, you remind me pretty often just walking around and being hot.”

Jon shakes his head. He still has very little idea what people _mean_ by that, but every once in a while Tim will wear a nice shirt or some subtle eyeshadow, and that might be something, maybe. “If you say so,” he sighs, and presses a kiss to Tim’s jaw.

“Ooh.” Tim tilts his head to give Jon more room, sliding his hands up Jon’s shirt. “A little lower and you’ll find out my secret weakness…”

“It’s not a secret,” Jon murmurs, moving lower down his neck, and relishes the soft, desperate noise Tim makes when he bites down. 

“Ahh, okay, I am fully— officially in the moment,” Tim gasps after Jon does it a second time. 

“Oh, so I should stop—?” Jon can’t keep the smile out of his voice, and he can feel Tim huff indignantly underneath him. “What? We did just have a whole discussion about clearer communication.”

Tim hooks a leg around him and rolls them both over instead of answering, pinning Jon to the mattress with a vexed grunt. “That’s it. You’re getting too pleased with yourself.”

“What’s— ah, what’s so bad about that?” Jon wriggles under his grasp as Tim kisses his way down his stomach, much more brisk and impatient this time.

“I want you to be pleased with _me._ ” With that, Tim pushes his thighs apart firmly and just about buries his face in Jon’s cunt, sighing with apparent delight, only spurred on at the sounds that seem to be forcing themselves out of Jon through their own accord. He tries pressing a hand over his mouth because he does have _neighbors,_ for Christ’s sake, but then it’s harder to breathe and everything is too much and not enough at the same time. Tim’s tongue pressing inside him is making him feel distinctly unraveled, and yet he still needs _more_ somehow, deeper, harder. Jon squeezes his thighs around Tim’s head, trying to take him _further_ , until it blearily occurs to him that Tim must be quite uncomfortable. He lets up, trying to stutter an apology, but all Tim offers is a gratified moan in response, petting distractedly over Jon’s hips and belly in a soothing motion. Then finally, _finally,_ he slides two fingers into Jon and starts pumping them with determination, his mouth still hot and eager on Jon’s clit, and Jon is breathless, drowning with pleasure. It moves through him in hard, heavy pulses, and he lets it take over, seizing up, then releasing in a soft, ecstatic rush. 

Tim is nothing if not generous; he doesn’t sit back until Jon has the wherewithal to bat gently at his head, mumble something half-coherent. Even then he doesn’t go far, kissing earnestly at the joint of Jon’s hip, and he leaves his fingers where they are until Jon sits up to say hoarsely, “All right, all right, that’s— That’s enough, you’ve ruined me.”

“God, I hope not,” Tim says, with so much warmth and sincerity in his eyes that it almost hurts to look at him directly. 

Jon shoos him off to the bathroom, because he desperately wants to kiss him, but the whole lower half of Tim’s face is soaked, and he won’t stand to watch that sweatshirt be defiled any further. While the water is running he gingerly dabs himself clean with a wad of tissues, the best he can do while everything is still sensitive. When Tim returns to the bed Jon is splayed out on his back, head still fuzzy with all that’s happened in the last forty-five minutes. He reaches out lethargically, and Tim crawls over to him, settling on his chest. “You look like you enjoyed that,” he remarks smoothly.

“I might have,” Jon confesses, peeking out from under the arm thrown across his eyes. “What about you, though...?”

“What, me? I _loved_ it, you’d better bloody believe.”

“No, I mean— I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, but, don’t you want to…?”

“Oh. Hah.” Tim offers him a bashful smile, color rising on his cheeks. “Well, you- You look a bit knackered; I thought we might just be done for tonight.”

“I— That’s not fair,” Jon protests, squinting at him. “You just— I’m not about to just _ignore_ you after—”

Tim lays a hand on his chest. “Hey, hey, it’s not, like, a transactional thing. I just told you I enjoyed myself, it’s okay if you’re tired out.”

“But— You didn’t get off.”

“No,” Tim agrees. “But I don’t have to.”

“But you want to,” Jon supplies, quizzical.

“Well I’m not gonna say it wouldn’t be _nice,_ ” Tim concedes. “I can always take care of myself, though.”

“Hm.” Jon considers this for a moment. Then he files it away for another night and leans in for a kiss, pulling Tim into it by the collar of his sweatshirt, sliding a hand around to cradle his head. Tim makes a noise of mild confusion at first, but then he settles, resting a hand comfortably on Jon’s waist and brushing their legs together. The baby hairs at the nape of his neck are soft beneath Jon's fingers. 

Eventually, Jon pulls back, but only a few centimeters, just to ask: “Can you stay the night?”

“Huh?” Tim says, processing, and then, “Oh— Yes, oh my god, yeah.” He kisses Jon again, and then adds with a grin, “No way I’m gonna turn down a night at my boyfriend’s.”

They end up tangled on the bed, mostly diagonal, with Jon’s hand down Tim’s pants. Tim’s breath is hot on Jon’s forehead, and his grip on Jon’s shoulder is like a vise, but it feels good. Even the awkwardness of having one arm pinned between them is less a discomfort and more a hallmark that this is organic. Jon rubs him with two fingers, gentle circles that have Tim whispering curses into his hair, until he slides them slowly down and inside. There isn’t much room to maneuver inside Tim’s briefs, nor is there much leverage for thrusting when they’re doing this on their sides. It can’t be the best sex Tim’s ever had, but Jon feels him come anyway, a warm rippling around his fingers that makes Jon strangely giddy. Tim gasps, panting; some of Jon’s fringe is stuck to his face, and they’re both sweaty in a damp sort of way. Jon pulls his hand out, gently, and then after a weighty pause, wipes his fingers off thoroughly on the front of Tim’s pullover.

Laughing, Tim draws him into a clumsy sort of hug, and plasters a few kisses to his cheek. “Oh, I could get used to this,” he says. “I really could.”

“Me too,” Jon says, his lips against Tim’s stubbled jaw, and he means it.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone's wondering, yes this is based off of personal experience, although somewhat less steamy personal experience. There's a "put a ring on it" joke somewhere in here but I couldn't quite manage to find it.
> 
> Catch me over at my [nsfw twitter](https://twitter.com/naughtical_nbd) if you enjoyed this one! Feedback always appreciated, and I'm always open for requests. Might even write some one day. And as always, please let me know if there's a tag or warning I missed.


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